


The Gift of Her Name

by Anyawen



Series: Elephant Tea Party [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Don't copy to another site, Established couple, M/M, Names, Wedding Preparations, and their significance, families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 10:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: John needs Rosie's adopted name to put on the package. Sherlock asks Mycroft for it. The answer he receives surprises them both.





	The Gift of Her Name

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the Coven for beta and brit-picking :)

“Her name is what?” Sherlock asks, shocked.

“You heard me, brother mine.”

“I don't understand.”

“When she was adopted by Major Sholto, the paperwork he filed altered more than just her last name. He asked me about the name she'd been given, and then about family names.”

“But … _our_ family names, Mycroft? Why?”

“Because you were her family, and Major Sholto was determined to respect that connection.”

Sherlock stares out the window of the cab, phone pressed to his ear, utterly dumbfounded. 

“I wasn't ...”

“You were,” Mycroft corrects gently. “You loved her, and cared for her, and supported her father when he was struggling to give her the future he thought best for her. Had that future been with him, you would have been her other father. Just because it was with someone else does not negate who you were to her then.”

Sherlock lets out a shaky breath he knows Mycroft can hear.

“I -. Thank you, Mycroft.” Sherlock says, meaning it for more than the kindness in Mycroft's words.

“You're welcome, Sherlock.”

Sherlock disconnects the call and muses over the information Mycroft has provided. 

In the month since they announced their engagement, in between visits to venues, checking calendars, and ordering invitations for the wedding, they'd had several conversations about what, if anything, they wanted to do with the knowledge of Rosie's whereabouts. Now, a carefully worded letter written to Rosie's dad, and an invitation to the wedding, sit tucked between the legs of a crocheted elephant in a box on their sitting room table. All that was missing was the name of the recipient.

This morning, on his way back from filling out paperwork at Scotland Yard, Sherlock had called his brother. Mycroft has given him the data he requested, and Sherlock finds he is touched by the sentiment evident in it.

When he enters the flat Sherlock finds John exactly where he expects, and can't help but smile at the sight. John is frowning in concentration as he types – faster than he used to, but still agonizingly slowly – a cup of tea sat on the desk next to him. Sherlock smiles in greeting as he hangs his scarf and coat, then sits in the chair next to John and steals his tea.

“Oi! Wanker,” John says, fighting hard to maintain his scowl. Sherlock snorts in reply, then makes a face at the unsweetened tea and puts the mug back on the table with a thunk.

“Did he tell you?”

“He did.”

John reaches for the box and fumbles with the pen.

“Her name is Catherine Rose Vernet Sholto,” Sherlock says quietly. “Though I am told that she does, in fact, still go by Rosie.”

John is still, pen poised over the box. Sherlock watches him.

“Catherine …” he says, looking up to meet Sherlock's gaze. “I wanted to call her that. After my gran. Mary wouldn't hear of it. Did he know that? How could he know that?”

“I don't think he knew, precisely,” Sherlock replies. “Mycroft says that he did ask about family names, though how he came to choose that one … I can only guess that you shared stories of your gran when you were in Afghanistan together. Don't soldiers do that? Talk about their families back home?”

“They do, yeah,” John agrees. “We do. I did. Especially the Christmas she sent me my jumper. You know the one. Actually arrived on Christmas day, and it was bitterly cold. Perfectly timed and very much appreciated. James was jealous,” John says with a grin.

“So, when given a list of names, he would have recognized that one, and known that she was special to you.”

John nods as he writes the name on the box. 

Catherine Rose …

“Did you say Vernet?” he asks.

“I did.”

“Isn't that -”

“My grandmere's maiden name, yes. Apparently, he requested Holmes family names, as well.”

John sits back in his chair, his incredulous look morphing into a bright smile.

“Son of a bitch. That's brilliant.”

“You think so?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh, God, yes. He's made her his, and given us a link to her at the same time. She is his daughter, but he's acknowledged a connection with us, if you know to look for it. Might have been coincidence with Catherine. Hell, _his_ gran might have been a Catherine and the name was for her. But Vernet? That is clearly a nod to you. To us. To family.”

Sherlock nods, happy in John's happiness. 

“I should rewrite the letter,” John muses, pausing in writing out the postcode.

“Mmm, no,” Sherlock responds. “It says everything it needs to say. That you know where she is. That you're happy she's there, with him. That you've no intention of changing that, but, if he's willing, would be interested in meeting him and his daughter. And that they are invited to our wedding next April.”

“You're probably right. But one day, if he'll let me, I will thank him for the gift of her name.”

Sherlock's phone buzzes in his pocket as he watches John finishing addressing the box.

“Case?” John asks.

“Construction update,” Sherlock responds, studying the information he'd received.

“Time to update your mental map of London?”

“Indeed,” Sherlock replies, standing, then gestures to the box on the table. “I can drop that at the post office on my way.”

“Or I could come with you. Join you for a romantic stroll the through back alleys, admire the scenic placement of the skips and fire escapes, and see how many new CCTV cameras we can use to flip off your brother.”

“John Watson, you are perfect.”

“Come on, then. It's a date. We'll drop this in the post and go off exploring … where, exactly?”

“Battersea. Phase 3 is complete.”

John shrugs on his coat and grabs the package with one hand, and Sherlock's hand with the other. Sherlock allows the other man to drag him down the stairs and out the door, grinning.


End file.
